Cursed
by jesuisl0ser
Summary: The Scoobies suspect The First's involvement when Buffy falls mysteriously ill. Meanwhile Willow is visited by a dear friend who influences her beyond her control. Slightly AU Season 7, pre Caleb and Faith. Undertones of Spuffy, Willara, Wennedy, Xanya.
1. Arms

A/N: Hello, everyone. I'd like to mention again that this takes place during Season 7 but is slightly AU due to timeline issues. It's Post "Lies My Parents Told Me", Pre-Faith's return/Caleb/that whole bit. XD I hope you enjoy it, nonetheless. **DISCLAIMER: I don't own _Buffy _or its characters; it all belongs to Joss Whedon. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.**

* * *

His arms wrapped around her from behind, he could practically _taste_ her. Her scent was all around him, everywhere. She smelled sweet with kindness, combined with a slight tangy air of determination.

Ever so gently, he leaned forward, taking in her every movement---

"Okay," Buffy Summers shouted, "Let's assume a vampire is attacking you from behind."

Spike suppressed an agitated groan, and broke his fixated glare on Buffy's neck to glance at the squirming Potential Slayers standing in front of him. As much as he would have liked to fix this particular situation to his liking, Spike's arms were around Buffy in order to portray to the Slayerettes an example of an attack from behind.

This was a typical Saturday evening scene at the Summers household: there was Buffy in the backyard, teaching and training a group of fifteen-year-old girls about various ways to stake a vampire in the heart; and Spike, who served as "the vampire" in every single one of Buffy's demonstrations.

Which made a lot of sense, of course, considering he was one.

"Now," Buffy continued, placing her hand on Spike's arm. He shuddered slightly at her warm touch, but casually brushed it off. "If Spike's got both of his arms pinned around, say, my lower waist, I've gotta remember I still have two arms I can very well use."

She grabbed his arms abruptly and yanked them off her, before whirling around and lightly throwing a punch at him. _At least she's considerate enough not to actually hit me_, Spike thought bitterly.

Even if she had, he would've never hit her back. Not in a million years. Maybe he would have a year or so ago, but not anymore.

Getting a soul, after walking the world a heartless vampire for a century or so, changes everything. Spike, of all people, knew that fact by heart.

Falling in love changes things even further.

Buffy suddenly latched onto Spike's arm, bringing him out of his thoughts. He looked down to find that her eyes were closed, and she was swaying slightly.

". . . Buffy?"

She didn't answer him; rather, she held onto his arm even tighter.

"Is she okay?" one of the Potentials, Rona, asked.

Spike gently placed his hands on Buffy's shoulders. "Slayer. Buffy. Anyone in there?"

"I'm . . . I . . . "

His arms were there to catch her when she fell.

* * *

Buffy awoke bleary-eyed and dizzy about six hours later. She opened her eyes to find her sister, Dawn, peering at her worriedly from the edge of the couch.

"Dawn? What happened?" Buffy sat up quickly, and immediately regretted doing so: a surge of nausea came over her and compelled her to lay back down again.

Dawn sighed. "I kinda figured you'd do something like that. You know. Sit up with Slayer-speed when you've got a fever of one hundred and four."

"A _what_?!"

"Here." Dawn handed her sister a glass of water, and Buffy took it hastily. Now that she thought about it, she certainly did feel shaky.

After gulping down the water, Buffy asked again: "Okay. Repeat that in slo-mo for me. One hundred and four? I can't afford to have a fever right now. I have to train. And patrol. And do a bunch of other stuff that---"

"I know, Buffy," Dawn interrupted, "Believe me, I know. But you're not doing so well right now. You slept for six hours straight, but you were shivering the entire time. It was scary. Xander and I were going back and forth trying to keep your fever down.

"Anya said we should take you to a hospital---"

"No," Buffy said determinedly, "_No_ hospitals." Looking into her sister's worried eyes, she added, "I'll be fine, Dawnie. I must have caught a virus or something. At work. Y'know, dealing with a bunch of germy teenagers everyday . . ."

"I resent that. And plus, I haven't heard about anything going around. It doesn't make sense."

Buffy was just about to say something else when Xander Harris walked through the front door, the shorter, lankier Andrew Wells shuffling in behind him.

Buffy sighed. "Since when do we let him out of the house?" she asked, nodding to Andrew, the nerdy ex-villain.

Xander shrugged. "He helps read the big words on the pill box labels. How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay," Buffy said, trying to sound reassuring, "And . . . what are those?" She noticed Xander and Andrew were carrying two big bags.

Andrew looked around nervously. "Okay, so we ransacked CVS Pharmacy. We panicked."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "You didn't have to go through---"

She stopped in mid-sentence, feeling sick to her stomach.

"Hey, Buffster." She heard Xander's voice, though it seemed to be coming from very far away, "You're looking a little on the queasy side. You okay?"

"She will be," Andrew quipped, "We bringeth the medicine . . . eth."

Dawn rolled her eyes and pretended to ignore Andrew's comment. "She just needs more rest. Right, Buffy?"

_The voices...so far away._ Buffy closed her eyes wearily. She could barely hear anything at all, until:

"Bloody hell. Will one of you shut those curtains? I don't fancy burnin' to death before I even make it across the room."

_Spike._ "Spike?" she called out in spite of herself.

She opened her eyes to find herself staring into his blue ones. "Hey, Slayer. You're up."

She remembered that he had been the one to break her fall the night before. She wanted to thank him, but something else inside her told her not to.

"Hey, um, is Willow up yet?" Buffy asked, "I haven't seen her."

As if on cue, Willow came running through the door, panting slightly. "Sorry! Sorry! I'm here! Present!"

"Whoa, Willow," Dawn muttered, "Take it easy. We don't want you sick, too."

"Giles called me and told me what's going on. Buffy, how are you?"

But Buffy couldn't help but answer Willow with another question: "You were gone all night, Wil?"

Willow shook her head frantically. "I . . . I was out, you know, doing research about the First and stuff . . . I had no idea any all this was going on!"

"It's okay," Buffy assured her, fighting yet another urge to vomit, "I'll be fine."

It was then Buffy noticed two small marks on Willow's exposed left arm. "Are you alright?"

Willow quickly pulled down her sleeve, noticing her friend's questioning gaze. "I, uh, cut myself making a sandwich. Cabbage heads are merciless vegetables."

Buffy raised an eyebrow but said nothing more.

"Here, Buff," said Xander, ripping open a small box, "Take one of these. It says you're supposed to take one every . . . two hours. To reduce the fever, and other big words."

Buffy smiled a little. "Thanks, Xander."

She tried to sit up, but to no avail; that is, until she felt two strong arms bracing her back and helping her into a sitting position.

She nodded her head toward Spike in thanks, and downed the pill with another glass of water.

"I feel . . . better already," she said, looking around at all her worried friends.

Something told her, though, that for a while, she wouldn't be.


	2. Relapse

**A/N: Hope everyone enjoys this chapter. Hoping for reviews! Disclaimer: Joss owns _Buffy_. I don't. This fic is for entertainment purposes only.**

* * *

"Buffy, I really don't think it wise of you to---"

"For the last time, Giles, I am _not_ sitting around anymore."

She was sitting up on the couch, her arms folded across her chest in defiance. Buffy had been ill with a high fever and cough for two days, and wasn't exactly getting better yet.

Rupert Giles removed his glasses with one hand and rubbed his eyes tiredly with another. It was true: Buffy was _not_ getting better, and he assumed there must be something supernatural going on.

"Buffy," he tried again, "Until we figure out what exactly is causing this, training the girls isn't the best idea at the moment. You could make yourself even more sick, and we cannot risk that."

Buffy shook her head. Giles had always been her mentor, but this time she had to disagree. "I need to prepare these girls for any threat the First---" She coughed, before speaking again, " is going to throw at us next. Me sitting here isn't doing anything to help them."

"I've been doing research, and---"

"It's not enough," she interjected bitterly, "I'm sorry, Giles. But we're just wasting time."

Buffy stood up firmly and walked into the kitchen, trying to ignore the shakiness of her legs and the lightheaded-ness she was feeling. Giles sighed and followed suit.

She found Willow, Xander, Spike, Dawn, Andrew and Anya all standing in the kitchen, clearly in the midst of a conversation.

"Buffy!" Dawn cried excitedly, "You're up! And doing the walking thing!"

Buffy smiled. "Whatever this is, I'm not letting it get the better of me right now. So, what's up, guys?"

Everyone was silent until Anya spoke up: "Well, everybody is standing around with unnerved expressions on their faces. The Potentials are downstairs whispering and scared. This is because they're all worried you're not going to get better. They're also not doing anything about it. So I'm not sure what the point of this 'standing around' really is. And yet, here I am anyway---"

"Thank you, Anya," Buffy interrupted, "for your honesty."

Xander sighed. "Leave it to Anya to bluntly and monotonously set the record straight."

"As if you weren't used to it." For a brief moment, Anya and Xander's eyes locked with each other, and there was a split second in which their eyes glowed with memories of their past together. It faded all too soon.

Buffy coughed again, which ultimately led into a small fit of coughing. Spike immediately ran to the sink and filled up a glass of water for her.

"Here," he said, handing it to her, "You need to drink."

His gaze was full of concern, but she refused to meet his eyes for more than a second as she snatched the glass of water.

"This is serious," Andrew said, "Like, the heroine isn't supposed to get all sick and icky before an impending apocalypse. Right?"

"Shut up, Andrew," Dawn snapped, "This isn't a comic book."

Buffy noticed Willow, whose eyes seemed to be fixated beyond the kitchen's walls.

" . . . Wil?" Buffy said, "You alright?"

"Oh! Yeah!" Willow shook her head a little, bringing herself back to the present situation. She ran a hand through her red hair quickly. "Good here. Shouldn't you be sitting down?"  
"For the _last_ time, I'm not gonna---"

Before she could finish her sentence, Buffy was falling again.

* * *

Spike had never been the image of a typical "fairytale" guy to most. But the way he'd just whisked Buffy into his arms and carried her swiftly to the couch would have certainly made that fact questionable to any average bystander.

The sun had just recently set, so there was no need to shut the curtains this time. He set her down on the couch as everyone else frantically crowded around her.

"Is she conscious?"

"She looks pale."

"Should we get her a cold towel?"

"It's . . . so hot," Buffy muttered, her eyes fluttering open and closed, "Is anyone . . . else . . . scorching in here?"

"Her temperature," Giles said, "It must be getting even higher."

Buffy moaned.

"Why is it you always catch her?" Xander asked, a tinge of resentment in his voice.

Spike was in no mood to argue. "Vampire reflexes. Remember?"

"What do we do?" Dawn asked frantically, "The cold compresses don't seem to be working."

Again, it was Anya who broke the nervous silence: "Doesn't anyone else see it?"

When no one replied, she spoke again: "She's got a fever. And, look around. Who's the person in this room whose body temperature is _way_ below 98.6 degrees?"

Everyone turned to face Spike, who raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"She's in pain. You all want to fix it. Spike can't fix it, but he can help," Anya finished, "He can help cool her down. Why are you all looking at me like I'm stupid?"

Buffy coughed, mumbling a few incoherent words.

"She's right," Willow muttered after a moment, "It can help. Spike?"

Spike cleared his throat. "Yeah. M'on it."

And with that, he walked back over to the couch, and pulled a shivering Buffy into his arms. He leaned back against the armrest, and bit his lip as she curled up against him. Her breathing slowed and her muscles relaxed.

"Wow," said Dawn, "It's actually working."

Spike couldn't help but think that even though she was so weak and helpless, Buffy was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"So. I'm Useless Guy right now. What should we do?" Xander asked.

Willow suddenly stood up from her sitting position on the edge of the couch. "I'm gonna go see if I can find some books on curses and stuff. I mean, it can't hurt, right?"

"Willow," said Giles, "Would you like me to assist y---"

"I'm okay," she cut him off, "I'll call if I find anything. Keep me posted!"

She fled out of the house, leaving her friends with bewildered expressions on their faces.

* * *

Willow Rosenberg stood in the Sunnydale graveyard, wrapping her sweater more tightly around herself. She'd been waiting for a few minutes now.

It was hard keeping this from her friends. But ever since last night when Buffy had almost discovered what was going on, Willow could no longer take many chances. She had to continue this outside of the household.

It was especially hard keeping her secret from Kennedy, one of the Potential Slayers who she had been going sort-of-steady with. Kennedy could almost always read her expression.

"Willow."

She was brought out of her thoughts by that familiar voice. The voice that always brought her back.

She turned to face the young woman standing in front of her, and a broad, genuine smile spread across her face.

"Hey, Tara."


	3. Memory

**Thanks to those of you who have reviewed so far. DISCLAIMER: I don't own _Buffy_. Joss Whedon does. This fic was created for entertainment purposes only.**

* * *

"_Powers of the darkest night,_

_hold her fate in your delight._

_Boggle and brittle and warp and release_

_So the strength within shall cease---"_

"Willow?"

Willow's eyes flew open. She was in her bedroom, sitting cross-legged on the edge, her arms held out in front of her. Little specks of blood were already starting to dry on her forearms.

_Oh, God._

"Willow!" came the voice again. It was Kennedy. Her eyes, stricken with fear, panned from Willow's face to her cut arms, then back again. "What the hell happened?"

Even if Willow wanted to burden Kennedy with what was going on, she couldn't if she tried. She couldn't recall a thing about the past few minutes. The last thing she remembered was seeing Tara at the cemetary the night before, and walking back home with her, and talking with her.

Now, Willow found herself in the same situation she had the past few days since she'd first discovered Tara's presence: sitting, cross-legged on the bed, with her arms bleeding, lacking any memory of how she got there.

"Okay, I may be new to this whole girlfriend-of-a-wicca thing," Kennedy went on, "But I don't think you went to get all rehabilitated this past year just so you could be doing wacky spells like _that_."

"I . . . I was just . . . it wasn't a wacky spell, Kennedy."

"Yeah? Then how do you explain the bleeding?"

"It's nothing!" Willow snapped. When Kennedy's expression softened into a hurt one, Willow couldn't help but feel guilty. She went on: "Kennedy . . . please don't worry about me. The arms thing; I was just . . ."

"Well?"

"I was trying something to make Buffy better." _Maybe that _is_ what I was doing? Maybe last night Tara was helping me with some research for Buffy?_

Kennedy sighed, walking over to sit beside Willow. "You can't do stuff like that, Wil. It'll hurt you. Buffy is gonna get better; we'll fix this. You don't need to hurt yourself."

"I'm sorry," Willow said quietly, "Just . . . don't tell the others, okay? I don't want them to worry. Having you worry is enough."

Kennedy half-grinned before kissing Willow quickly on the cheek. "Okay. Promise. As long as you won't hurt yourself again."

"Won't. Promise."

"Good. I'm off to go to training---"

"Training?" Willow couldn't help but ask, "Buffy better not be trying to---"

Kennedy shook her head. "Oh, no. Not even us Potentials would let her step foot outside in her condition. She's let me lead in exercises for a little while until she gets back on her feet."

"That's great," Willow replied.

Long after Kennedy had left the room, Willow sat, fear and confusion radiating from her every pore.

* * *

When Buffy woke up, her first thought was that she hadn't felt so comfortable in a long time.

Her second thought was remembering that she was laying in Spike's arms.

_Oh. Shit._

"Hey. Slayer. You awake?"

Buffy craned her neck to look up at Spike, who was peering down at her with concerned eyes, like always.

"Yeah," she muttered, trying to sit up, "I'm---_whoa_." She fell back against his chest in fear of blacking out. Everything hurt. And it was only day three of God only knew how many more that Buffy figured she'd be feeling like this.

Spike sighed. "You might not wanna do that just yet. Last time, it didn't work out so well for you. D'you remember?"

She didn't. And it scared her. "I . . . No, I don't."

"You tried to sit up. All pissed at me and whatnot, saying you were just fine. I tried to stop you. You stood up, and your legs buckled, and well, let's just say if your left knee starts hurtin' like a bugger, you know why."

Buffy looked up at him again. Her eyes felt heavy, but she didn't want to sleep anymore. "You didn't catch me? I guess you're losing your touch."

"'Course I did!" Spike almost looked offended. "I was a fraction of a second off, I s'pose. Wasn't expecting you to go all 'Slayer Power' on me."

"Well, I _am_ the Slayer. I'm kind of used to being able to stand up and walk around. I'm not as weak as you think I am, Spike," she blurted, anger boiling in her as much as her fever, "Right now, I'm just being slowed down. Don't take advantage of it."

She realized how hurtful her words had been only when she finished speaking. For a while, neither of them said anything. Buffy looked around and realized that she was downstairs, on Spike's cot with him. He must have carried her downstairs where it was cooler . . .

All he was doing was trying to help, and she kept pushing him away.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, closing her eyes.

"Forget it." But she could hear the hurt in his voice. Buffy had known him long enough to understand the feelings behind his words.

Once again, Buffy shifted in his embrace to look him in the eyes. "I'm sorry. Really. I'm just so tired of all this . . ." she trailed off, feeling tears burning behind her eyes for a reason unknown to her at the moment. She lay back down again, feeling spent even though all she'd done was shift her weight.

Suddenly she felt him running his fingers through her hair. "S'alright, love. I get it."

She didn't push his hands away.

* * *

"I wish I could touch you."

Willow reached out to touch Tara's hand, only to find it went right through Tara's.

"I know," said Tara, smiling sadly, "I do too."

They sat across from each other on Willow's bed, lost in each other's eyes. It had been a week since Tara's ghost had appeared in Willow's room late at night. Now, Willow wanted nothing more than to be with her.

"I was so afraid, Tara," Willow whispered, "that you would be upset. About me and . . . Kennedy."

But Tara shook her head. "No, sweetie. I was so happy to see that you weren't still grieving over me."

"I . . . want you to be able to meet her. And to see everyone."

"Me too," Tara said, "But . . . I'm n-not allowed. They only let me visit to see you, I---"

Willow nodded. "I know. It's okay. You're not supposed to talk about it. I'm so glad I can trust you . . . the First, it's been messing with everyone's minds, and it's really scary."

"I know, Will. I know."

Willow sighed, looking into her former lover's eyes again. "It was weird, this morning. After you left, I couldn't remember a lot that happened."

"Oh. Well, that's part of what happens when I'm here. Your memory gets jarred. It's sort of a spell that's latched on to me while I'm in this dimension. Since I-I'm not really supposed to b-be here."

It made sense. Willow trusted Tara completely, and it seemed like a good explanation. "That spell you helped me with? I don't think it's working yet. Buffy's still in a lot of pain. She's getting weaker, and losing her Slayer power---"

"It will work, sweetie," Tara interjected, "I promise."

Willow glanced down at her aching arms, then up at Tara's reassuring smile. "I hope so."


	4. Discovery

**I'm glad many of you have added this story to your Story Alert list and that you're enjoying it so far. Please take time to review, I hope you enjoy the next chapter. DISCLAIMER: I don't own _Buffy_, Joss Whedon does.**

* * *

In Buffy's eyes, the world was spinning---which didn't make sense, since she was laying flat on her bed. She felt sick. But then again, she'd been feeling sick for three and a half days.

"Hey. Buffy? You awake?"

Her sister's voice was certainly a nice breakup of the hours of isolation Buffy had succumbed to. She was too weak to do much else, although she wouldn't admit it to anyone.

"Yeah," Buffy replied. Her voice came out as a cracked whisper.

She heard Dawn walk over and sit on the edge of the bed. "How are you?"

"Anything . . . new? Update me," Buffy said in between shaky intakes of breath, ignoring Dawn's question.

"Well, Principal Wood sends his regards. He also thinks something creepily mystical's going on with you. Obviously a lot of kids are upset that you're not around in school, because they can't skip class to go get all counseled by you . . . "

Buffy rolled her eyes.

". . . Oh, and there was a food fight at second lunch, and this one kid---"

"Dawn," Buffy muttered after a couple of coughs, "Thanks for _that_ update, but . . . anything new with research?"

"Oh." Dawn's face fell. "Not much. Giles and Willow and the others are still working on stuff. But the Potentials are doing okay. Spike's outside with them."

"_Spike_?" Buffy cried out, sitting up and ignoring the nausea that came as a result, "It's the . . . middle of . . . the day!"

"Yeah. While you've been resting the past few days, he's been helping out. Didn't he tell you?"

* * *

"Right. If I walked over there behind you, say, right now, you'd be dead in two seconds. You know why?"

Spike cocked an eyebrow as one of the Potential Slayers, Vi, whirled around, the stake in her right hand shaking a little.

"'Cause you were too busy focusing all your energy in one spot," he answered when she didn't reply. The girls all nodded in agreement, not wanting to challenge Spike, soul or not.

"You gotta watch _all sides_, people," he continued, this time to all the girls. He was standing in a very small patch of shade in a corner of the backyard near the porch. He very much wanted to walk out there and speak to them more directly. But he'd only do that if he so desired to be a pile of dust in a matter of seconds.

Yeah. Being a vampire had its limits.

"If a vamp is comin' at you from the front, don't let your guard down from something attackin' you from behind. Buffy's said this before. Remember it."

"Hi, Buffy," Kennedy chirped suddenly, prompting Spike to turn around.

And there she was, leaning against the doorframe in front of the porch. She looked paler and thinner than ever, and Spike wanted nothing more than to somehow bring color to her face again.

She grinned weakly before slowly making her way over to Spike. He gulped.

"So, uh . . . the Nibblet told you I was out here, huh?"

Buffy nodded. "How'd you---"

She coughed, having to hold onto the side of the house before catching her breath to go on:

"---make it all the way over here in one, non-flame-covered piece?"

He shrugged. "Covered myself with my coat. No biggie. You should be resting."

"Everyone . . . keeps saying that," she wheezed, and Spike tried to hide the ache in his expression as he watched her.

"I think," she went on, "I've done . . . enough resting . . . to rival Rip van Winkle."

"Right. Well. Just wanted to help, y'know. Give the kiddies a piece of advice or two about how to kill a vamp, since I am one."

"Yeah. You've got that factor going for ya, huh?" she replied.

It amazed him that even though she was in so much pain, she could still joke about all of this.

"Everyone! Quickly!" came a voice from inside the house.

Spike looked past Buffy's fragile frame to see Rupert Giles waving toward them. "I think we've got something!"

* * *

"It's called the Curse of Narynza," Willow stated matter-of-factly. They all stood in the living room, Buffy sitting on the couch beside Spike who had once again become her personal cooler.

Anya sighed, casually throwing one of the many books she and the others had been researching with onto the floor. "That's good. What's a Narynza? Can we kill it?"

Andrew looked up from his seat on a pile of books. "This reminds me of that one episode of---"

"_Shut up, Andrew_."

"The name doesn't really have much significance, according to these website articles," Giles explained, "It's not a demon, or . . . anything, for that matter, that exists at the present as far as we know. The curse is meant to be used on those with a great deal of power and strength."

"I'm not exactly raging with power right now," Buffy muttered, closing her eyes and leaning against Spike, "So why doesn't it, you know . . . " Cough. "Go away?"

"That's just the thing," Giles went on, glancing sympathetically at the Slayer, "The curse lingers because you're so strong. You may not feel it, but you are."

"But, she's the Slayer," Xander said thoughtfully, "Isn't she immune to some curse-y stuff? I mean, she is Miss Super-Human of the Year . . . of the past few years, now that I think about it."

"Not always," Buffy said, opening her eyes in an attempt not to remember the various times spells had been cast on her and gone haywire.

"So," said Spike nonchalantly. The rumble of his voice, to Buffy, made up for the fact that he didn't have a heartbeat. It was soothing. "This is a spell that can only be cast on the super-strong. People who can handle it. Yeah?"

"I suppose that's a way to put it, yes," replied Giles.

Buffy looked up and saw Spike's expression turn to a thoughtful one. He fell silent.

"So, what are we thinking, here?" Dawn pressed on.

"Well," Giles removed his glasses and shrugged, "I'm assuming that The First is using this spell to weaken Buffy. Buffy's current condition may be a gateway for it to strike."

"Great," said Buffy drowsily. Spike draped an arm around her casually. At this point, she was too tired to care whether he was trying to make a move or not. Something in the back of her mind, though, told her that his actions were sincere.

"That doesn't make sense," countered Anya, "The First can't touch anything, right? It can't flip pages to cast this spell. Or pick up the proper materials---"

"---Which is why it's hurting Buffy through someone else," Willow finished.

It made sense to Buffy. "So . . . what do we do now?"

"We just have to find the person The First is controlling, right?" Xander asked, "And stop them from working the mojo on Buffy?"

"Correct," Giles said.

"So," Dawn said, turning to her older sister, "Whadaya think, Buffy?"

After a brief few seconds of silence, Buffy sat up a little, and said, "I think . . . I need a bucket."

"Oh, _bollocks_, she's gonna hurl!"

* * *

Willow trudged up the stairs to her bedroom, taking a deep breath. She was glad she'd proven useful in helping figure out what was wrong with Buffy.

Her eyebrows furrowed slightly as she noticed an open book lying on her desk. She hadn't remembered seeing it there. Then again, she didn't remember much about her alone time these days.

Alone time meant time with Tara. And there was always a price to pay for that.

Tara had been talking with her about controlling her magic . . . something Willow felt she was doing pretty well with, considering the circumstances.

Giles had always said it would take a while to fully break away from the addictive pull of dark magic. But Willow thought she was doing well.

As far as she could remember, any spell she'd been doing within the past few months had been for Buffy's sake.

She glanced down at her arms. _Well, I guess I won't be needing to do this spell anymore. Since it's not working and it just makes my arms all icky-looking. I'll have to ask Tara about that..._

She peered over at the book, wondering what she had been looking up the night before with Tara.

And she gasped at what she saw:

"_The Curse of Narynza: To weaken the strong and intercede the force of life. Can be used on any species, living or undead, with the invoking of the proper forces by the will of the caster . . ._"

With shaking hands, Willow slammed the book shut.

She needed to talk to Tara.

* * *

"Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry I almost vomited on your shirt."

He chuckled bitterly. "S'alright, Buffy."

"I'm so sick of . . . being sick. It sucks. M'hungry but then when I eat I just chuck it up. And did you notice that we don't have a lot of ceiling fans in the house?"

"Uh-huh." She was half asleep on the couch with him, making no particular sense in her conversing with him, and he could have sworn her temperature must have been a hundred and ten degrees by this point.

He remembered what Giles had said earlier about the curse. That someone strong could handle its full affects. That it really could only work on someone strong to begin with . . .

Buffy had a world to save. The First was winning, there was no doubt about that. But what if there was a way to take the burden off her?

Spike looked down at Buffy, his jaw set firmly. To see her so helpless these past few days had taken its toll.

He had some research to do. He'd never been one for reading much since becoming a vampire, but now he knew this was his only chance.

"I'm gonna help make it better, Buffy," he whispered, knowing she was asleep by then, "You have my word."


	5. Preparation

**Please review, everyone! Disclaimer: Joss Whedon/Mutant Enemy own BtVS. I don't. This was written for entertainment purposes only.**

* * *

Rupert Giles massaged his temples tiredly, leaning against the Summers kitchen counter. He hadn't been home much that week, what with tending to a very ill Slayer and making sure a bunch of Potentials were training properly without her.

Buffy kept insisting she didn't need any help. And lately, Spike had been taking care of her in his own strange way . . .

Giles didn't exactly approve of that. With a soul or not, Spike was still a vampire, one who had made many a mistake and gone off on many a killing spree.

"'Behind ya, Giles. Gonna make the Buffster some soup."

Giles turned to face Xander, who was holding a can of chicken soup in his left hand.

"I'm not quite sure I trust you with a stove, Xander," Giles said, only half-joking.

Xander gave him an exaggerated look of shock. "I resent that! It's just some canned soup. Call me Chef Xander; I'm ready to roll."

Everyone was trying to make light of the situation at hand, but Giles had the distinct feeling that they were just as worried as he was.

Buffy's health was certainly _not_ improving, and no one could figure out who---or what---it was that was keeping the Curse of Narynza on her. The First wasn't letting up on Buffy, and because she wasn't able to properly guide and protect the Potential slayers, Giles presumed there would certainly be some repercussions.

The question was whether any of them were prepared for what was to come.

* * *

"Bugger . . . there's gotta be somethin' in here somewhere . . ."

Spike lay sprawled out on his cot in the basement, flipping through a few spellbooks from Willow's room, from the few she'd actually kept after cleaning it out a year prior to make it magic-free.

He hadn't _stolen_ them. He'd just borrowed them. Without permission.

Okay, so he'd stolen them. But it was for a good cause, he concluded. He was going to help Buffy.

As Giles had mentioned before, the Narynza Curse was a spell that could only affect those with a lot of power.

Spike liked to think he was strong. Strong enough to fight alongside the Slayer, anyway. And if he was strong, not to mention undead, he had a good chance at helping Buffy more than any of the others could.

He was going to take away her pain. He'd caused her enough of it over the years, as his newly intact soul ever reminded him, and it was time to redeem himself.

On page seven hundred and ninety-six of _Curses: How to Identify, How to Repeal_, Spike found what he was looking for:

_SPELLS TO COUNTER 'WEAKENING/DETERIORATION CURSES'_

_Some curses are meant to impair the strength and general abilities of one's adversary, be it by the guise of a virus attacking the body or an invisible, untouchable force . . ._

"Blah-bloody-blah . . . " Spike muttered, getting frustrated.

_The counter-spell for these types of curses is universal and is guaranteed to work against the force of the original curse (exceptions to this include Aniras' Spell and the Curse of Narynza; see bottom of page.)_

Spike averted his gaze to the bottom right corner of the page:

_*Both Aniras' Spell and the Curse of Narynza display different effects than most weakening spells when countered by a spell. There is currently no known counter-spell that will effectively diminish the curse entirely once it is enacted. The Curse of Narynza, rather than being destroyed entirely by the counter-curse, latches onto the next strongest being within reasonable distance of the original cursed subject . . ._

"Aha." Spike had predicted something like this. In fact, he'd counted on it.

He was going to take away Buffy's pain.

And make it his own.

* * *

Willow tried to keep the tears behind her eyes as she stared into Tara's.

"Willow, don't you trust me?" Tara begged.

"I . . . My memory . . . That book was open to the curse that's hurting Buffy, Tara! How do you explain that to me?"

They were sitting across from each other on Willow's bed, like always. Willow had been uneasy since she'd seen that spellbook open on her bed. What if _she_ was the one doing all those things to Buffy?

"Willow," Tara said her name again, "The hours that you can't remember . . . I've been with you for them. Do you think I would let you hurt anyone?"

Willow shook her head, feeling her bottom lip quiver. "No, but . . . God, I'm so scared! Buffy's getting worse and worse. And she won't go to a hospital. Giles said she might . . ."

"Might what?" Tara asked quietly.

Sniffing, Willow mumbled, "She might . . . this is becoming too much for her. She won't say that to any of us, but . . . I don't think she can handle it much longer."

"I under---"

"No, Tara," Willow whispered, "I'm sorry, but . . . you don't understand."

Tara looked at Willow with sympathetic eyes. "I guess you need some time alone."

Willow didn't want Tara to leave, but now that she thought of it, maybe being alone was the best idea.

Tara was gone before Willow could say anything else.

And then, suddenly, everything went black as Willow fell down against the pillow, and her thoughts no longer belonged to her alone.

* * *

Spike trudged up the stairs, about to head up to Buffy's room to check on her. He did it when no one was around to chastise him for doing so.

It was then he saw Dawn, standing outside of Buffy's closed door, tears streaming down her face.

If Spike had a metaphorical beating heart, it would have stopped right then.

His relationship with Dawn had certainly suffered in the last year or so. When Buffy had sacrificed herself a couple of years back, he'd promised her he'd take care of Dawn. And that he had. They'd always had a twisted sort of father-daughter dynamic. He felt protective of her, even now.

All of that had gone to pieces a while back. And although they still shared a laugh once in a while, things were different between them. She didn't trust him as much anymore. He figured she had a right.

He took a deep breath, and said quietly, " . . . Dawn?"

She looked up from her fixed gaze at the floor, and then quickly looked away again.

Spike remembered he always used to call her by one of the nicknames he'd given her to get her attention. "Nibblet?"

It worked. Dawn looked at him, her eyes glistening with tears. "What is it?" she asked.

He walked up to her, his eyebrows raised. "You alright?"

"I'm fine," she snapped.

"Uh-huh. I don't much like when you lie to me, you know."

Dawn sighed shakily. "What do you know? She's not your sister. You don't know what I'm feeling right now."

"Well, yeah. She's not my sister," Spike agreed, "But I care about her. A hell of a lot."

"Then tell me," Dawn countered, "Are you scared?"

Spike glanced down at the spellbook in his hand quickly before looking up at Dawn, determination in his eyes. "I'm not scared. Y'know why?"

"Because you're Mr. Tough Guy Vampire with an ego?" she spat.

He rolled his eyes. "Enough with the attitude. You're soundin' just like Big Sis."

Dawn folded her arms across her chest. "I learn from the best."

"The reason why," Spike continued, "is 'cause I know Buffy is stronger than anyone I've ever known. She'll get through this."

They were both silent for a beat.

"C'mon, Bit. You need some rest. I'll go in and watch her for a while."

Dawn's eyes met his for a moment, and it seemed that, briefly, she had all the trust in him in the world. Just like before.

It passed all too quickly, and she nodded to him and walked away.

Spike took a deep breath, opening the door and entering Buffy's room.

"Spike?" he heard her whisper, "That you?"

"Yeah," he said, trying not to look at her in fear of losing control of his emotion, "S'me."

She coughed. "Sorry. Couldn't tell. My eyes . . . aren't doing . . . that whole opening thing."

With a bitter chuckle, Spike opened the spellbook to the page he'd bookmarked.

"You just hold tight, Slayer," he said, "You'll be alright." _This better bloody work.  
_  
He cleared his throat, closed his own eyes, and began reciting the counter spell.


	6. Trials

**A/N: Only a few more chapters after this! Hope you've enjoyed so far. DISCLAIMER: I don't own Buffy or its characters; Joss does. Entertainment purposes only, yadda yadda.**

* * *

In all honesty, Spike hadn't heard of half the words on page seven-hundred and ninety-six of that spellbook. It was probably because they'd never been words in the English language to begin with, but it didn't prevent Spike from becoming frustrated. He wanted---needed this to be perfect.

"_Ile . . . abara . . . contule . . . _" Each word he said was hesitant. He lifted his eyes from the book to glance quickly at Buffy, who was fast asleep. It was exactly how he'd planned it.

He flipped the page, and sighed in relief. _Finally, some bloody English._

"_Hear my plea, daughters of healing, __and sons of fire, sky and sea---_"

A soft glow appeared, encompassing Buffy's body, illuminating her in the darkness of the room. Spike furrowed his eyebrows, his jaw set. The had to mean _something_, right? Maybe the spell was already taking effect!

He knew if anyone else figured out about his plan, they'd either (a) kill him, or threaten to, because it was ridiculously dangerous, or (b) call him an idiot for trying to be heroic.

Okay, so Spike had mostly Xander in mind when it came to the second option, and he wanted to make one thing very clear: He was not doing this to be "the hero".

He was doing this for Buffy, because he couldn't stand to see her suffer anymore.

" . . . _Lift this burden, amend this curse. May its powers transcend to the next worthy."_

Spike felt a surge of pain that took him by such surprise, that he fell to his knees almost directly after the last word was spoken.

"Oh, bugger."

Meanwhile, Buffy was sitting up, gasping for air, her entire body shaking even worse than before. There were tears streaming down her face.

It was then Spike knew, through the burning he felt in every pore of his body, that something had gone very wrong.

It hadn't been anything he'd done, however.

Someone was trying to keep the curse going. And they were in this very house.

* * *

"Okay, did anyone else hear that?" Xander asked.

The Potentials were sifting through the weapons box, two at a time, getting ready to train. Vi looked up and shook her head.

Andrew, who was making muffins, peered through the kitchen doorway. "Hear what?"

Xander sighed. "If you must know, it was a couple of _thud_'s from the second floor that didn't sound too safety-first. Who's up there right now, anyway?"

Giles lifted a crossbow and examined it briefly before replying, "Spike is with Buffy, watching her, I assume. Willow is upstairs as well."

"God . . . Spike's so creepy," Xander muttered, "I mean, what has he been doing up there for the past couple of hours, anyway? To this day I don't know why he's living here."

"He's just watching," Dawn said quietly from the couch.

Everyone peered at her quizzically.

Dawn cleared her throat and spoke again. "He really doesn't have any bad intentions. He's just making sure my sister's okay. That's all."

No one felt it necessary to argue with Dawn at this point.

Just then, another loud _thud_ erupted from upstairs.

"See? _See_? Xander Harris is not crazy." Xander crossed his arms over his chest and nodded firmly.

"Well," said Kennedy, "I wouldn't say we all agree with _that_."

"Okay, just because you're Willow's girl as of, like, a few days ago does not mean you get to play 'Insult Around the Xander'---"

"Shh!" Giles hissed. When the noise came again, he, Xander, Kennedy and Dawn all began to take some hesitant steps up the stairs.

"'Kay," Andrew muttered holding a bag of chocolate chips absently, "I'll just . . . stay down here . . . Guard the fort, ya know."

Some of the Potential slayers began to follow, determined looks on their faces.

Xander had seen a lot of things, having been a part of Buffy's gang since day one in Sunnydale. But what he saw as he turned the corner into Buffy's room was something he never would have expected.

There was Buffy, sitting on the edge of the bed, breathing heavily.

Spike, on the other hand, was sprawled out on the floor, gashes covering what was visible of his flesh, blood smeared all over him. He coughed a couple of times, and his gaze seemed to be fixated beyond the doorway of Buffy's room.

"Oh, my _God_," Dawn cried, "What happened?!"

Xander's first thought was that Spike had tried to hurt Buffy, and she had taken the initiative to hurt him back. Having never been a fan of Spike's, this seemed like the most logical conclusion.

For the first few seconds, that is.

Dawn ran over to Buffy, trying to calm her down. "Buffy? Buffy, what's wrong?"

"It . . . it hurts, but it doesn't, and then it does again . . . It's a light-switch . . . acting like a light-switch . . . "

"_What_?"

"Okay," Xander gulped, "I think I need a Buffy translator. What was that supposed to mean?"

Another gurgled cough from Spike on the floor prompted everyone to turn their attention toward him.

"Spike," said Dawn from her position beside Buffy on the bed, "What did you do?"

He shook his head briefly, still staring beyond the room. "I . . . I tried."

"Tried what?" Giles prompted.

Xander, overwhelmed, ran a hand through his hair. It was then he noticed the spellbook on the floor.

"A spell!" he shouted in spite of himself, "Spike tried to do a spell!"

Dawn got up, walked over to Spike, and helped him to sit up against the wall.

"Spike? _Spike_." Dawn tried to meet Spike's gaze.

Xander noticed how much like her sister she looked at that moment.

"Spike, you have to tell us what happened."

Spike shrugged weakly. "I just . . . tried to make it better. Didn't work. Witch is all over it." He continued to look through all of them, his eyes unfocused.

Xander's ears perked up. "Witch?"

"Oh, God," Kennedy whispered, "It's Willow."

* * *

The pain was going away, Buffy realized. But she didn't have the strength to speak just yet.

She was sitting on her bed, and Dawn and the others had just left the room.

Buffy didn't remember much beyond being in a lot of pain and possible delirium a few hours earlier. Now, she could function. The temperature in the room finally seemed to settle---which probably meant her fever was going down.

A groan from the corner of the room prompted her to open her eyes.

Spike lay on the floor, covered in what seemed to be his own blood. Buffy's eyes widened.

_What did he do?_ He had to have done something. The pain, the sickness she'd been feeling for days . . . it had almost entirely subsided.

And Buffy felt stronger than ever before.

She stood up and shuffled over to Spike, kneeling down in front of him.

Spike seemed to shake himself into the present when he noticed her there, and said quietly, "I . . . I'm sorry. Didn't work, did it?" He lifted a hand to his face, wiping some blood from his nose.

For a moment, Buffy said nothing. She realized with a sudden clarity that he had essentially saved her life from whatever had been sending her spiraling downward to begin with.

She reached out to cup his bleeding face in her hands. Tears formed behind her eyes, but she blinked them away quickly.

"No, Spike," she said, "_I'm_ sorry."

It was a loaded statement. Full of apologies for all the things she'd said---done---to hurt him. She was always hurting him, even without realizing it.

Buffy sat there for a moment, making sure most of Spike's wounds had stopped bleeding for the time being, before standing up, a surge of energy coursing through her.

"Buffy?" Spike muttered, "What're you doin'?"

She took a deep breath. "Whatever all of this is," she replied, "I'm going to finish it. Now."


	7. Strength

**A/N: One more chapter after this. Enjoy. DISCLAIMER: Don't own Buffy. Entertainment purposes only, and all that stuff.**

* * *

Buffy Summers, donned in nothing but a pair of pajamas, her hair askew, was determinedly making her way down the hallway to Willow's room. She heard loud noises and shouts through the closed door, and her jaw locked in concentration.

It was time for her to step up, and make up for all the time she'd lost.

Finding that the door was locked, she shrugged and abruptly kicked it open. _God, I didn't realize how much I missed this._

She was taken entirely by surprise at the sight before her.

Willow was sitting on the floor of the bedroom, tears flowing freely from her eyes. Her arms were exposed, covered in evenly marked slashes.

"Oh, God," Buffy muttered, "Willow . . . "

She averted her gaze to the person standing behind her, and gasped.

There was Tara Maclay, who, to Buffy's knowledge, had died over a year ago.

Tara looked up from Willow's shaking frame to stare grudgingly into Buffy's eyes. It was then Buffy knew it wasn't Tara at all.

The First Evil was back, in full force.

"Buffy, stay back," Giles said quietly.

Tara---or, the evil that had manifested itself into her appearance, sighed in mock-annoyance. "Oh, don't be such a worry-wart, Giles," it said, "I can't hurt her. At least, not anymore."

Buffy cringed. She sounded just like Tara. The First had appeared to Buffy in many a form. The one thing all these forms had in common was that they all had since passed away.

"You did this," Xander said quietly, "You made Buffy sick."

The First laughed Tara's laugh, a soft bell-like giggle. "Oh, no. You have Willow to thank for that."

It knelt down next to Willow, who was sobbing. "Aw, sweetie," it said in a sickeningly sweet tone, "You couldn't do it, could you? I asked you to override that silly vampire's counter-curse, and you couldn't do it."

"You . . . you . . . tricked me!" Willow cried.

Buffy almost wished that she could be deliriously ill again, just so she didn't have to be surrounded by such pain.

But the pain that her friends were feeling---that _she_ had been feeling for over a week, was only more motivation for Buffy.

"Xander, get Dawn and the others downstairs---"

"No!" Dawn interjected before Buffy could finish, "I'm staying."

Buffy suddenly made the connection as to why everyone said she and Dawn were so alike. Dawn had just as much drive as Buffy herself did.

"We're not going anywhere," Xander agreed.

Buffy didn't know why she still bothered trying to convince her friends to leave her side. Being in constant danger? It was all just part of the Friends-With-Buffy Package.

She clenched her fists, and looked into evil's eyes. There was no trace of innocence in its stare.

It was an insult to Tara's memory.

Buffy stepped forward. "Get...the _hell_," she said, her voice shaking with fury, "out of my house. Now."

"So quick to blame, aren't you, Slayer?" retorted the First. It shrugged its shoulders nonchalantly and went on, "You do know about the Curse of Narynza, don't you? It can't be defeated entirely. Only passed on. I couldn't have done all this damage by myself, you see."

Buffy glanced around her in utter confusion. All those days she'd been barely conscious, she hadn't really retained much information about the curse itself.

"Passed on . . . " Dawn muttered. "Spike. Spike tried to remove the curse . . . "

"And bear it himself," finished the First, "Very good, Dawnie."

Dawn brushed a few strands of hair behind her ear, her eyebrows furrowed. "Don't you _dare_ call me 'Dawnie'," she snapped.

_That's my girl_, Buffy thought. She turned her direction back to the First. "What will it do to him? What is it going to do with Spike?"

"Looks to me like you've already had a preview," it replied, bemused, "He ruined it, you know. It was going to kill you, otherwise."

Buffy had certainly had enough. "Get out," she commanded, "And get the hell away from my friends."

"Be careful who you pick and choose as friends, Slayer," the First muttered, glancing around the room at each of them, "You never know who will turn on you when you least expect it."

With a final glance at Willow, it disappeared.

Long after the First's final words, everyone stood, immersed in their own thoughts.

Finally, it was Willow who broke the silence: "Buffy," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Buffy knelt down beside her friend, her face expressionless.

"Buffy, I am so, _so_ sorry!"

When Willow flung her arms around her, Buffy didn't pull away. Rather, she embraced her best friend, and after a moment, replied: "It's okay, Wil. It's okay."

* * *

" . . . And then it poofed, and now Willow's upstairs and she isn't talking much," Andrew finished bluntly, "Kennedy tried to get her to eat something, but she won't, and now Kennedy's in the living room with the other girls, discussing today's events in shock and wonder."

Buffy shook her head. "How is it you know more about all of this than we do? You weren't even there for half of it." She, Anya, Xander and Andrew were standing around in the kitchen, bringing Anya up to speed. It had been a good few hours since the whole incident had taken place, and everyone needed a break.

Anya Jenkins leaned against the kitchen counter, her eyebrows raised. "Wow. I, for one, am extremely glad I was not present for all of this."

"Yeah, well, you lucked out," Xander muttered.

"So, what are you going to do about the bleeding?" Anya continued.

Buffy whirled around from pouring a glass of orange juice, her eyes widened. "Did . . . did we not bandage up Willow enough? Curse-induced injuries aren't exactly---"

Anya raised an eyebrow. "No, not Willow. Spike."

Buffy looked down at the glass in her hand and said nothing.

"Well," Anya continued, "Clearly you're avoiding my question, so obviously you're worried about him. He did save your life, didn't he? I don't understa---"

"Anya!" Xander snapped, "Relax, okay? You're doing that 'nosy' thing again."

"I keep telling you that you should be used to it. No need to get huffy about it."

"Well, maybe it's because I miss it."

Anya blinked, taken aback, before mumbling, "You . . . you do?"

"Yeah. And I think we should skip the tension thing, which has been going on for a while, and just be friends."

Buffy looked back and forth between Anya and Xander, and realized this was a moment between the two of them.

She had a place to be, anyhow. In her brutal honesty, Anya always seemed to bring to light what needed to be done.

After a fight, there was always the aftermath, and now Buffy had the strength once more to pick up the pieces.


	8. Resolve: Final Chapter

**Last chapter. Thanks to everyone who read/reviewed. DISCLAIMER: I own nothing besides the Curse of Narynza. Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy own the rest.**

* * *

"Spike? Are you awake?"

Buffy took a few hesitant steps toward Spike's cot. He lay on his back, bandages covering a great deal of the top half of his body.

After a beat, she heard his reply: "Well, now I bloody am."

"I'm sorry." She walked over to him and sat down on the edge of the cot. "I just wanted to see how you're doing."

"Well and cursed, thanks," he said hoarsely, "But I think the bleeding's dyin' down a little."

Buffy sighed. The Curse of Narynza hadn't been destroyed, just as the First had said. Now, it was affecting Spike, and it was hurting him.

"You don't deserve this," she whispered.

Spike laughed bitterly. "If you do recall, I was the one who did the transferring counter-curse." He coughed. "My fault."

"It isn't," she said, "You were just trying to help. I know you were."

Spike sat up gingerly, looking her in the eyes. "You don't have to feel sorry for me."

"I'm not."

"Then what are you doing down here?"

Buffy noticed the resentment in his voice, prompting her to raise her own. "Spike, will you listen to me for a second?"

At her tone, he stared down at his hands and said nothing.

"I'm not feeling sorry for you. I was going to tell you that I'm proud of you. Walking around as a vampire with a newly-acquired soul can't be all that easy." She took a breath, reached over and lightly touched his face. "You were there for me when everyone else couldn't be. That's more than I could ever ask for. It's more than I deserve from you."

"You deserve," he countered, "all of it. And more. A lot bloody more." He leaned back against the wall, biting his lip in pain.

Before Buffy could say anything more, she heard another voice from behind them:

"_Daughters of healing, I beseech thee;_

_May the flow of red be ended by my plea._"

Afraid for the worst, Buffy ran over to Willow, who was standing a little ways from Spike's cot, her arms outstretched.

"Willow! What are you doing?!" she cried. She whirled around, looking for any sign of the First, fleeting thoughts going through her mind concerning what Willow could possibly be doing.

Willow's arms fell to her side and she looked beyond Buffy to Spike.

There was silence for a moment, until:

"Buffy . . . " Spike muttered, "Buffy, the bleeding. It stopped."

Buffy turned her attention back to Willow, who began to speak: "I couldn't, Buffy . . . I couldn't live with what I've done to you. I . . . I'm fixing it. I want to fix it."

"Willow," Buffy said calmly, "There's no counter-curse that will---"

"I know," Willow interrupted, "I know. But Spike isn't a living being. The curse won't kill him. And now that I've stopped the bleeding, it won't hurt him, either."

"I don't understand."

"The Curse of Narynza can't be destroyed completely, and that's why Tara---" she paused, to correct herself, "That's why the First used it. And it can affect beings other than humans, but not in the same way. It could have killed you, Buffy. But Spike isn't living, so it won't kill him, no matter what. Now that the effects are gone, it's dormant."

"Wait, back up, Red," Spike said, standing up much to Buffy's shock, "You're sayin' that the curse is still in me?"

"Yes," Willow replied, "It just can't hurt you anymore. I made it stop . . . I had to make it stop." Her eyes filled with tears once again. "All of this is my fault."

"Wil, no one's blaming you. The First tricked you---"

"But it shouldn't have!" Willow cried, "I should have known! I was just . . . I was so happy to see her again. Maybe, deep down inside I knew it couldn't possibly be her . . . and even though I'm moving on with my life, I still _miss_ her, Buffy!"

Thinking of her mother, Buffy nodded. "I know, Wil. I understand. It's alright."

"You suffered so much---"

"But I'm not anymore. And neither is Spike, thanks to you."

Spike nodded in thanks.

"I just . . . you don't have to forgive me, Buffy," Willow finished, staring down at her shoes.

"I have, Willow," Buffy said sincerely, "I have." Placing a hand on her best friend's shoulder, Buffy up the basement stairs with Willow and Spike, leaving any trace of defeat or sadness behind them all in the dust.

* * *

"So, we have a curse that probably won't ever hit the road, a bunch of Potential Slayers who will now have to do some double-time training for all that they missed, and a recovering witch who isn't really recovering anymore," said Xander.

Buffy nodded, grabbing a chocolate chip cookie from a platter set out on the coffee table in the living room. "You pretty much hit the nail on the head there."

"Hey, don't steal all the cookies," Dawn said, teasingly, "Just because you can now eat them without throwing up doesn't mean they're all yours."

It was the following night, and they all sat in the living room, on the couch and on the floor as Buffy waited for the Potentials to grab weapons from downstairs for training.

"Well, now Spike has yet another similarity to Angel he'll be resenting. He's got a curse of his own." Xander chuckled in amusement. Anya sat beside him, and even Buffy could see the tension between them was more along the lines of "we're-former-lovers-but-okay-with-it" rather than the previous "we're-former-lovers-and-hate-pretending-to-be-friends".

"It's different," Buffy mused, "A lot different. In fact, in a few weeks we'll probably even forget he's got one. It doesn't affect him---or anyone else anymore."

"Hm. And Willow? Is it safe to say she won't be randomly turning me into a frog or something anytime soon?" Anya asked.

"I think she's good to go. I talked to Giles, and he said this is probably even a good thing for her recovery, you know? It'll keep her from getting tempted to use magic to do something bad."

"Where is she now?" Dawn asked, "I mean, I haven't seen her."

"Last time I checked on her, she was having some . . . erm . . . private time with Kennedy," Buffy answered, pausing only to giggle at Xander's wide-eyed expression, "I think she's doing just fine. I think she gained her confidence back when she stopped Spike's bleeding."

"'Ay, Slayer." _Speak of the devil_. "The girlsies are all prepped and ready. Want me to herd 'em outside?"

Buffy laughed, standing and walking over to him. "Spike, they're not sheep. There will be no 'herding'."

He shrugged, and followed her as she began to head outside. "You, uh . . . want some help tonight? Y'know, with the attack demonstrations?"

She turned to face him, a smirk on her face. "That would be good," she replied.

He sniffed, crossing his arms. "Right. Will do."

And then, much to his shock, she placed a quick kiss on his pursed and determined lips. "Thanks. See ya outside."

Buffy could almost feel Spike gaping after her, and she smiled to herself.

She was feeling stronger than ever. And whatever plan the First had ready for her in the near future, Buffy had confidence that she would pull through with the help of her friends.

She took a deep breath, grabbing a stake from a box of weapons. Granted, maybe she wouldn't always be completely ready for whatever evil had in store.

But even when she had her doubts, it was in her friends and in her power that Buffy had all the confidence in the world.


End file.
